


Island Radio

by littlejeanniebean



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gen, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlejeanniebean/pseuds/littlejeanniebean
Summary: A gangly, redheaded young woman looked up with starry eyes at the roof of a squat brown building. On top of that building was a broadcasting tower that bore the words, Island Radio.She pinched herself and yelped. “Okay, Anne... this is happening. Best foot forward.”Anne pushed through the doors and approached the lady in reception. “Hello. I’m Anne Shirley. That’s ‘Anne’ with an ‘E.’ I start working here today.”
Relationships: Anne Shirley & Muriel Stacy, Diana Barry & Ruby Gillis & Anne Shirley, Diana Barry/Fred Wright, Diana Barry/Jerry Baynard, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Marilla Cuthbert & Matthew Cuthbert & Anne Shirley, Marilla Cuthbert & Rachel Lynde, Prissy Andrews/Mr. Phillips, Royal "Roy" Gardner/Anne Shirley
Comments: 41
Kudos: 93





	1. An iPad to the Face

A gangly, redheaded young woman looked up with starry eyes at the roof of a squat brown building. On top of that building was a broadcasting tower that bore the words, _Island Radio_. 

She pinched herself and yelped. “Okay, Anne... this is happening. Best foot forward.” 

Anne pushed through the doors and approached the lady in reception. “Hello. I’m Anne Shirley. That’s ‘Anne’ with an ‘E.’ I start working here today.”

“Congratulations,” the lady drawled without looking up at her. 

“Um… I’ll just… head on back then?” Anne pointed at the double glass doors heading to what appeared to be the offices and studios.

“Probably,” the lady shrugged, still staring at her computer. 

“Thank you.” She tried for a smile, even though the lady still wasn’t looking at her. Halifax might not have been the largest city she could've hailed from, but Anne had been looking forward to some of Avonlea's famed small town hospitality when she arrived. It was alright though, because she could imagine better conversations than most people could ever dream of having in their lifetime. 

“Um, excuse me,” Anne approached an elderly woman at the catering table - they had _catering_ ! It wasn’t advertised in the job description! And _Cuthbert Catering_ sounded so pretty. Anne always adored an admirable alliteration. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” the catering woman nodded her head once, sharply, and her glasses, which had been sitting just above her forehead, dropped down onto her long, pointed nose. 

“Anne Shirley. I’ve been hired to co-host the morning show starting tomorrow?” 

“Oh, dear…” The woman brushed her hands across her hips, but stopped just short of holding her arms akimbo. “Oh, dear, oh, dear - Rachel!” 

“What is it, Marilla?” Another older woman, perhaps a few years younger than the one named Marilla, wore a fitting, nude bodycon dress under her big-shouldered blazer of the same color. “The pitch meeting starts in - Who’s _this_?” 

“Shirley.”

“ _Shirley_!” her eyes bugged out of her head. 

“Yes.” Marilla sighed, pursing her lips. 

“But we told the agency we wanted a _man_ -”

“I know. You told me.”

“Oh, Mr. Phillips isn’t going to like this. But we haven’t the time to find another before tomorrow, so we’ll have to keep her, at least for a week -”

“I’m sorry,” Anne spoke up, “but I’ve already signed my contract for the year with H.R. yesterday -”

“Well!” The woman named Rachel exclaimed. “Well, well, well, that is quite a pickle. Oh, I know, Atlantic Radio’s been looking for a female on-air personality. I’ll call Blewett this afternoon. They won’t be putting _that_ freckled face on any billboards mind, not that we would either.” Her quick, beady eyes continued up to the crown of Anne's head, where she’d decided to wear her hair in milkmaid braids. “Redheads are all well and good for entertainment, but _not_ to work opposite _Diana Barry_ of all peop-- Oh! Do you know anything about sports?”

“I know most Canadians love hockey.” Anne responded icily. “And I’ll thank you not to criticise me based on my looks but rather the quality of my work - the work I was brought on here to do. I happen to a great fan of Diana’s show and have a few ideas about what I might bring to it. What do _you_ bring to this station, _Rachel Lynde_ ?” she practically growled out her name, much to the woman’s surprise. “ _Yes_ , I know who you are, despite the fact that you are a relic, a fossil from the seventies who does _nothing_ but be the radio’s most _hated_ sour old gossip!” 

Anne spun on her heel and walked towards the rapidly filling conference room, which she assumed was for the pitch meeting. 

“Oh, that’s rich!” Rachel yelled after her, “coming from an unemployed, _ungrateful_ -”

“ _Rachel_!” Marilla chastised her friend. “That was rude and uncalled for -”

“Don’t be so sensitive. I was doing her a favour. She’s not going to last long around here. Not with that temper -”

“You work at a _radio_ , Rachel. Her voice will carry over the airwaves well and what’s more, the last thing anyone is concerned about is what the hosts look like. The least you could do is be gracious -”

“I _was_!”

“You were being _cruel_!”

“ _You_ cater.” Rachel jabbed a finger at her friend. “ _I_ host. Let’s stick to our lanes, shall we? Now, I have a meeting to get to.”

Upon entering the boardroom, Anne found the beautiful raven-haired Diana Barry dressed in a cerulean blue leather jacket, a white music festival t-shirt and black skinny jeans. As she approached her would-be co-host - at least for the week - Anne tried her hardest to ignore the stares she got from the others. She recognized the two blondes in the room as Ruby Gillis and Josie Pye, who did the drive-home show. She wasn’t sure who everyone else was. 

“Hello, I’m Anne Shirley.” The redhead extended her hand and noticed a few freckles there as well and wished to damn her entire complexion. “Anne spelt with an E.” 

“Oh my God, _you’re_ Shirley?” Diana’s eyes lit up like a million suns and dimples formed on both her cheeks from smiling. “Oh, thank God! I thought they were trying to set me up with someone! I mean, a _man_ , you know? For the entertainment of it all.”

“So…” A ghost of a smile came over Anne’s face. “You’re glad to have me co-host, then?” 

Diana squeezed her hand. “I’m _ecstatic_.” 

“What a glorious word!” Anne beamed. 

“Here, sit next to me. We can pitch for our show together the way Ruby and Josie -” Diana stopped herself, “Actually, let’s not do it the way they do. It always ends up in an argument.”

“I’ve seen their show,” Anne laughed, “But I’d like us to be friends.”

“Me too, Shirley,” Diana grinned. “Okay, so you obviously know Ruby and Josie and I regret to inform you, it’s not an act, they’re genuinely always at odds, but it’s not Ruby, she’s a sweetheart. Josie just knows how to rile up everyone around her. They call her the new Rachel Lynde.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve met _her_.” Anne shook her head ruefully. 

“Yeah, she’s -” Diana licked her lips, searching for the best descriptor, “- an acquired taste. But she’s not malicious. Rachel, not Josie.”

“I see…” she frowned skeptically.

“Moody Spurgeon isn’t here - he does traffic. But that’s Charlie Sloane.” Diana pointed subtly to a brown-haired man with a crooked nose. “He does sports in the evenings at eight.” 

"Who's on the air right now?" asked Anne. 

"Billy Andrews. He covers celebrity news, scandals. Overlaps with me in entertainment a bit, but our crossover hour was more dull than a dead fish. I refuse to give him any material to work with. He's an animal."

Suddenly, the door to the conference room burst open with the dull clang of glass. 

“Sorry!” a tall man with dark, curly hair and hazel eyes breezed in with a genuinely apologetic smile. 

“Hi Gilbert!” Ruby waved him over to where she was sitting across the table from Anne and Diana. “I saved you a seat.”

“Thanks,” he grinned lopsidedly, but still managed to look handsome for it. 

“That’s Gilbert Blythe,” Diana whispered to Anne. “Morning and Drive-home news. He's always out collecting soundbites. You won't see him much.” 

Across the table, Gilbert looked directly at Anne and said, "Hey, Carrots, don't think I've ever seen you around here before."

"It's nice to see your head at a normal size for once," Anne bit back. She'd had enough comments on her looks for one day. "Your billboard isn't doing you any favours, you know."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at her, "I haven't seen your pretty face on any billboards lately, Ms….?"

"Shirley. Anne Shirley. Anne with an E." She swiped her sweaty palms over her plain cream slacks.

"Nice to meet you, Anne with an E," he smirked.

Rachel Lynde took her seat at one end of the table and whispered something to Charlie Sloane, who whispered to Gilbert Blythe, who glanced at Anne and then quickly down at his iPad. 

"Alright, let's get going." The producer, Mr. Theodore Phillips sighed, dropping into the swivel chair at the head of the table. Suddenly, he perked up, "Where's Priscilla?"

"She and Jane had a doctor's appointment," said Ruby.

"We'd be happy to pitch first," Josie stood with her iPad, "seeing as we have a show to do this afternoon."

Mr. Phillips gestured for her to go ahead, a bored expression on his face. 

"New conversation topics: times your astrology prediction was spot on -"

"You girls pitched that last time." The producer sighed.

"You are speaking to _women_ , Mr. Phillips." Anne spoke up.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" 

"Anne Shirley," she lifted her chin, "co-host to the morning show with Diana Barry." 

"For the week," Rachel Lynde interjected. "Just until we can find a replacement."

"Why?" Diana whipped around to face her. "Because she's not a _man_ whom you can throw at me for ratings?"

"Excuse _me_ ," Josie huffed, "I was in the middle of a pitch?"

"Is it anything we haven't heard before?" Mr. Phillips smoothed his moustache.

Josie and Ruby shared a look and Josie sat down, a scowl on her face.

"Shirley," Mr. Phillips swiveled slightly to face her on the other side of the table, "since you've got such a quick tongue, I don't suppose you have a pitch to make?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Anne stood and picked up her iPad. 

Mr. Phillips threw his hands up at Rachel in exasperation.

Anne failed to notice. "We could invite critics and writers as well as actors and musicians -"

"No one wants to listen to a critical analysis essay on the drive to work," he shook his head. "Nex-"

"I disagree. People love discourse. And what they love even more is to hate on critics. If we gave them a chance to defend their favourite movies and artists -"

"No one wants to get mad at each other in the morning -"

"Except on the weekends when there's nothing to do."

"I like it," said Diana supportively.

"Of course you do." Mr. Phillips rolled his eyes. "You haven't come up with an original idea in your life."

"Hey, what kind of work environment is this?" Anne waved her iPad in the air in frustration. 

"Would you like me to have your contract dissolved?" Rachel supplied from behind her. 

"Wha- _No_!" Anne spun around suddenly, her iPad flying out of her hand like a frisbee, straight at Gilbert Blythe's face. 

" _Agh_!" 

"Gilbert!" Ruby was all over him in an instant, "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah," he smiled kindly at Anne, whose gray eyes had blown wide in shock. "I've been told I'm very hard-headed."

"Well!" Rachel held her arms akimbo, "Well, well, well!"

"You're bruising!" Ruby was slowly but surely descending into hysterics. 

"It's your _shadow_ , Ruby." Josie rolled her eyes.

"Oh."

"Gilbert," Mr. Phillips called the meeting back to order, "Your pitch?"

"Some of Canada's largest companies in the natural resources sector are meeting at a conference in Charlottetown next week. I'd like a press pass?"

"Do we look like _The National Post_?" Mr. Phillips made a face.

"I have some friends I might be able to call," Rachel spoke up, "No promises, though."

"Thank you," Gilbert replied heartily. "I also like Anne's idea, by the way. I know a critic with the Avonlea Gazette you could start with." 

"Thank you," Anne nodded, her face impassive.

After the meeting, she took him aside. "What are you doing?"

"What do _you_ think I'm doing?" he quirked an eyebrow at her. It seemed to be his signature move.

"I just hit you in the face with an iPad and you were being a champion male ally in there. What's your angle?"

"Look, no sweat, it was an acciden--it _was_ an accident… right?" he joked.

"Of course it was!" Anne said loudly and quickly subdued herself. "Here's my number." She gave him a yellow post-it with the digits neatly printed. "Text me your critic's contact info?"

"Will do. I've got to get one last thing for my afternoon newsreel, but I'll… see you around?" 

"Just this week," Anne grimaced.

Gilbert's eyes lit up with an idea and he beckoned her close. "Rachel loves the Cuthberts' plum puffs."

"I have nothing to say to Rachel Lynde," Anne lifted her chin.

"You saw the dynamic in there." He angled his head at the conference room, which was now empty. "You have her on your side, you don't have to worry about Phillips."

"Okay, you _definitely_ have an angle with me," smiling slightly, she backed up in the direction of Diana's office. "But I'll let you play it out. For now."

Gilbert just smiled, shaking his head as he headed for the door. He was off again, this time to cover town hall for the afternoon news. "Welcome to Island Radio!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? *hopeful starry eyes* Kudos??  
> More writing on Tumblr [@littlejeanniebean](https://littlejeanniebean.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Dragons Around Here

_ Previously: Gilbert's eyes lit up with an idea and he beckoned her close. "Rachel loves the Cuthberts' plum tarts." _

* * *

Instead of seeing Diana straightaway, Anne went back to the catering table. An elderly man was there instead of the woman from earlier, but being a child of “the system,” Anne was acutely observant of ways to identify potential relations. So she took in the slant of his nose, the blue of his eyes, and his lightly tanned complexion -- he and the woman named Marilla were most certainly related, maybe even siblings. 

"Hello," she greeted him brightly, "Your plum puffs come highly recommended and I'd like to order a box?"

"Oh, well," he spoke with a low rumble so Anne had to lean in to hear him, "we have uh," he met her rather intense gaze before ducking his head, "a contract with the station, so…" he scratched the spot just behind his ear, "it's no charge to employees and guests." He quickly began filling a box with more than the usual amount of plum puffs. "Here you go."

Anne smiled widely. "They look positively  _ scrumptious _ ! Thank you, Mr…?"

"Cuthbert, er, Matthew," he shifted his weight to and fro. "You're the new morning show host?"

"Yes, I am," Anne threw her shoulders back so that she conveyed more confidence than she had the right to, given that her employment agency had mixed something up terribly. 

"Look forward to, um, hearing you. You have the voice for it. I can tell." He tapped the shell of his ear and nodded, curling his shoulders in on himself.

"Thank you," Anne sighed, "I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for your kindness, even though we've just met. Today has been…  _ something _ and it's not like me to be at a loss for words!" Suddenly, her eyes gleamed silver with the spark of an idea. "You are an  _ inspiration _ , Matthew Cuthbert. Kindness isn't  _ transactional _ ! Even if someone's wronged you… it doesn't take much to be the bigger person. Just a small act of kindness!"

"Er… you're welcome," Matthew did a funny cross between a frown and a smile. 

Anne took a deep breath and knocked on the door of Rachel Lynde's office.

"Enter," the woman barked.

Anne did so and led with the confectionery box, which she opened for Rachel to examine its contents. 

"I know your show is about to start," said the redhead, "so I'll be brief: I'm sorry I insulted you. Your barbs were intended to be superficial, I'm sure -- for there's no way you could have known how I've long lamented my looks -- whereas mine were meant to hurt you deeply. If I cannot be  _ divinely _ beautiful, as you were quick to point out, I should at least like to strive towards  _ angelic _ goodness. Please do accept my  _ sincerest _ apologies for my behaviour," Anne nudged the box of plum puffs closer towards Rachel. "And know that in the truth of my heart of hearts, I would be  _ honoured _ to work with a legend of the airwaves such as yourself."

"Well," Rachel bristled, gathering a few papers up in a binder. "Well," Then she selected the largest plum puff and popped it into her mouth. "I suppose I was rather… frank." She gave a tight-lipped smile that Anne could imagine was meant to be kind. "But anyone around here will tell you: I have  _ only _ the best intentions." Rachel took another plum puff and brushed past Anne on her way to the studio. She stopped in the empty corridor -- neither Marilla nor Matthew were at the catering table anymore -- and looked back at the new girl thoughtfully. "I'll have you know, Shirley, that we once had a host back in my day with freckles just as numerous as yours, but she didn't have that lovely red hair to draw the eye, nor a voice quite so captivating."

"Rachel, it warms my very  _ soul _ to hear you say that." Anne sighed happily.

"Take note: that doesn't mean that I'm cancelling my appointment with Spencer at the agency to book a replacement, but I can appreciate that the mistake doesn't lie with you."

Anne was determined to prove herself nevertheless. "Have a  _ wonderful _ show."

She continued down the corridor to Diana's office. "Hey!"

"Hey! Come on in and shut the door. So listen, I have some experience introducing co-hosts, but they’ve all come with Rachel’s flirt-scripts.”

“Flirt-scripts?” Anne tried to keep a straight face. 

“Yeah,” Diana’s pretty face contorted into a look of disgust before shaking her head resolutely. “But I think we want our friendship to develop organically for the listener. We want to draw them in. So I was thinking we could do a dry-run.” She put her phone on the desk and hit the audio record button. “Good morning Avonlea, I’m Diana, yadi-yadi-ya, and I’m pleased to introduce to you my co-host, Anne Shirley!”

“Hello, Avonlea!” Anne exalted. 

“Some of you might know her from her podcast: Kindred Spirits,” said Diana conspiratorially.

“Oh my God, you actually  _ listened _ to that?” Anne covered her face in embarrassment.

“It is literally the best reader-insert story  _ e-ver _ !” Diana punctuated her last two syllables by thumping on her desk. “So basically the premise is this: You are Anne’s imaginary friend, only you’re not all that imaginary. You’re trapped in the spirit world, doomed never to be born unless your Kindred -- your partner in our world -- realizes that you’re real.” 

“In my defense, I was in high school and that was my first foray into mass media,” said Anne, cringing. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, though.”

“How could I  _ not _ ? You have  _ such _ a brilliant imagination.”

“So do you! I’ve seen your YouTube channel!” 

“Oh God, no!” Diana laughed. “We are  _ literally _ breaking all the first-date rules, Anne!” 

“What?” Anne giggled. “Bringing up _totally_ underrated projects that we _love_? If that’s a crime, I proudly plead guilty!” She leaned in. “Look up Diana Barry does Her Boyfriend’s Makeup when you get home today, I promise you won’t regret it! She did it _while he was asleep_ _and he never woke up once even after he sneezed_!” Anne dissolved into a peal of laughter that made her eyes tear up. 

“He broke up with me for that,” Diana mumbled. 

“He just doesn’t appreciate your comedic genius.” Anne declared. “Dodged a major bullet there, Di. And the way you documented your self-discovery afterward -- teaching yourself piano, guitar, and  _ French _ ?  _ Iconic _ !” 

Diana forced out a chuckle and Anne stopped the audio recording. 

“DianaI’msosorry.” She clasped her hands in her lap, debating whether or not to reach out in an affectionate gesture. “I won’t bring that up on the air, I  _ promise _ . What video are you comfortable with me referencing instead?” 

The silence that hung between them for a beat seemed thick as molasses.

“ _ No _ ,” Diana frowned and Anne was sure she would be fired on the spot, but the raven-haired beauty said, “Bring it up.” She hit record again and spoke with confidence, “In my defense, I was in high school and Ben was  _ always _ easy.” 

They giggled some more and then Diana ended the recording, seemingly lost in thought. “You know, Prissy - that is, Priscilla Andrews - was looking into feminist trends in social media for a debate segment she was having with her sister, Jane, and she said that female friendships are really popular in the media right now. I’ll ask her for the data to forward to Rachel and Phillips. If they want to choose my co-host for me based on trends, I’ll  _ fight _ them with trends!”

“I can’t tell you how much it means to know you’re on my side,” said Anne. “I won’t let you down tomorrow!”

Just then, Anne’s phone dinged with a text from an unsaved number.

_ Hi Anne, this is Gilbert. Critic is Winifred Rose ( _ [ _ winnierose@avgazette.ca _ ](mailto:winnierose@avgazette.ca) _ ). Extension 732 at Gazette's number. I told her you would be getting in touch about a segment for Island Radio, but I thought I’d leave the pitch to you :) Good luck! _

“It’s for the Guest Critic segment,” said Anne. “Can I use your phone?”

“Sure.” Diana stood. “I’ll go get some food. I’m starving. I can never eat  _ before _ the pitch meeting, though. I always feel like I might vomit from the stress.”

Anne shot her a pitying glance before dialling the Gazette. 

Diana shut the door to her office and smiled sweetly at Jerry Baynard -- the more real reason she chose to eat so late in the afternoon. 

“Salut, Jerry. Puis-je obtenir une salade et un petit shortcake aux fraises, s'il vous plaît?” He was also the only person she could practice her French with. 

“Oui, oui, bien sûr, princesse,” he winked. 

She rolled her eyes at him even as a smile spread across her face, all the way up to her sparkling eyes. 

Jerry handed her a tray containing a fresh salad and a slice of strawberry shortcake. 

“Oh, j'ai aussi un don pour l'hôpital pour enfants.” She handed him some crisp, folded bills. 

“Ah, donc tu es aussi un ange!” He ducked under the table for the cash box the Cuthberts used to collect funds for the Avonlea Children’s Hospital. Other small businesses participated as well, but they prided themselves in particular on the record-breaking generosity of their clientele three years running. “Uh, un moment.” He texted the Cuthbert Catering group chat, which was composed of himself, Marilla, and Matthew. 

_ Is the cash box in the van with you? _

The reply was almost always from Marilla and from her, it was always immediate.

_ No. _

_ Matthew might have put it on top of one of the ice boxes behind the table instead of under the table?  _

_ Please let me know if you still can’t find it. _

“Uh,” Jerry looked around the ice boxes behind him. 

“Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?” asked Diana. “What’s wrong?” 

“Uh… un moment...” he checked under the table again, then around the ice boxes and even inside them. “Mon Dieu…” He texted Marilla back with shaking hands. 

_ It’s not here. _

_ Should I ask around? _

The little ellipses appeared from Marilla instantly. 

_ No. _

_ Ask Rachel and only talk to Rachel about it _ .

“Jerry?” Diana’s sculpted eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

_ Rachel’s still on the air. _ Jerry replied, palms sweating. He smiled nervously at Diana. “Um… désolée, pouvez-vous revenir plus tard, princesse?”

_ Write her a note and give it to her personally on her next break! _ Marilla texted back.  _ We’re on our way back there right now _ .

"Is everything alright?" Diana switched back to English. Whatever was happening was urgent and she didn't want to waste a few precious moments translating in her head every time she wanted to speak. 

"I have to give this to Rachel," He hastily scribbled something intelligible to her on a napkin. "Pardon."

The red light above the studio door switched off and he barrelled through. 

"Hey!" Mr. Phillips stood so suddenly, his headphone jack unplugged. "You can't be in here!"

Rachel took one glance at Jerry’s untidy scrawl and threw up her hands impatiently. "I can't read this. What does it say?"

Jerry whispered something in her ear and she stood busily. "Diana! Get on the air."

"I'll get Anne," Diana turned to leave.

"No, just you." She turned back to Jerry. "Who saw it last?"

"I-I don't know…" Jerry's eyes widened. He really needed to keep this job. "My shift just started."

"Well, find out!" Rachel snapped, ushering him out of the studio in front of her.

_ Who saw the box last and where? _ Jerry texted.

_ Matthew received a donation from the Andrews sisters during his shift. _ Marilla replied.  _ We're parking out back... _

"What's happening?" Anne followed Diana back into the studio, gray eyes wide and taking it all in. She'd never been in a professional one before, just a free-for-all sound booth at the library where she recorded her podcasts. 

"Shirley!" Rachel called her attention sharply. "You must've gotten my plum puffs during Matthew Cuthbert's shift."

"Y-yes," she clasped her hands behind her back. "Did you not like them?"

Rachel paced back and forth. "When we left my office, no one was at the catering table and I left you alone in the corridor -"

" _ What _ ?" Marilla entered, massaging her forehead vigorously. "You're the new girl who wasn't even supposed to be here, isn't that right? Why, I'll bet you're not even  _ with _ the Spencer & Co. agency!" 

"Oh, yeah," Anne scoffed sarcastically, practically scowling at Marilla. "And I just faked my identification and qualifications and  _ fabricated _ an  _ entire _ repertoire of work to  _ infiltrate _ this  _ specific _ station to  _ steal _ the catering cash box -"

"You see, she admits it!" Marilla pointed at her accusatorially. 

From behind the slightly ajar door of the office Ruby and Josie shared, there was a loud, melodramatic gasp. 

"Sorry!" Ruby revealed herself. "It's all just so shocking! Anne seemed like such a nice person!"

"Oh, please, you'd believe pigs could fly if someone put the CGI on the news," Josie rolled her eyes. "Not that I don't think there isn't something totally  _ off _ about the new girl."

"That's a double negative, which is slightly problematic for comprehension - but I - managed to - understand - you - perfectly..." Anne stuttered to a stop as everyone turned to look at her quizzically. 

Inside the studio, Diana helplessly looked on through the sound-proof glass. 

"Um…" Matthew inched to the forefront of the group. "If I may… uh… the Andrews sisters… they, uh, made their donation  _ after _ I came back from the washroom, which must've been when Anne and Rachel saw the catering table empty."

Anne shot Marilla a triumphant look. 

"Jerry," Marilla addressed her only employee sternly, "Did you ever leave the table unattended?" 

"Only to get more plum puffs from the van - I'm sorry!" He cried out all at once.

"Well, why didn't you say so right away?" Rachel chided him. "If we'd abandoned logic and somehow convinced ourselves that Shirley was the thief, would you have spoken up at  _ all _ ?" 

"I  _ would _ have if it came to that!" Jerry's face reddened angrily at the accusation. "And I really  _ just _ remembered that had happened!  _ Honest _ !"

"Hey, guys," Gilbert returned, laptop bag slung over one shoulder. "What's going on? Where's Mrs. Hammond?"

"Who?" Ruby, as always, was the first to entertain him.

"The lady at the front desk," Anne and Gilbert answered in unison. 

He shot her a questioning look as she seemed to be standing at the centre of their little impromptu gathering in the narrow corridor, but maybe it just looked that way because of her stand-out hair. 

She glanced towards the Cuthberts briefly in response. Then Ruby, from all the way back in the corner office, began rehashing the events for him. 

"I'll ask Moody how to check the security feed," Gilbert texted his friend quickly.

"How does our traffic reporter have access to our security cameras?" asked Anne.

"We're a small outfit," Gilbert smiled humbly. "He's also our entire IT department."

"Impressive," Anne raised her eyebrows. 

Gilbert nodded. "Hence he's successfully negotiated to be able to work from home."

"Enviable and, at the same time, lonely."

"Moody would dispute your second point, but I'd certainly back you." He smiled at her again as his phone dinged with a reply from 'the entire IT department.'

_ Hammond took the cash box. Tell Phillips to check his email for video proof. Police will track her down and contact the Cuthberts. _

The red studio light switched off and Diana barrelled out. Gilbert relayed the information to the group before sending an exaggerated wink at Anne, "Need anything else? Any dragons around here need slaying?"

"That'll do, Sir Blythe." Anne laughed. She figured out his angle: he had a hero complex. 

"Alright, everyone back to work!" Rachel clapped her hands and the employees dispersed. 

"Anne?" Marilla took her aside. "I'm… I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions… truly, I… I'm a very… private person and I'd… I'd heard about scams like that wh-where people start working someplace only to steal from them and disappear… but I should have kept my head. I don't know what came over me, I… The children's hospital… is a cause very dear to my heart and t-to think... that…" she struggled to find the words, but her watery blue eyes held all that Anne's vivid imagination needed -- a child lost, perhaps ending in a bitter divorce, so now she lives with her brother and does what she can to ensure that no other parent should suffer that way. 

"I can empathize, Marilla," Anne said kindly and opened her wallet. "Here," she handed over all her fifty-five dollars in cash. "For the children."

"Oh, I - thank you." Marilla smiled and patted her shoulder in an awkward attempt at an affectionate gesture, but Anne appreciated it all the same.

"Well, I'd better get back to work," Anne remembered she had to prepare her talking points for her segment with Winifred and returned to Diana's office where absolutely no work was done because Diana quickly interrogated her on what  _ exactly _ had transpired with none of Ruby's soap opera exaggerations. 

"Bet not everyone has a first day quite like this." Diana mused. "You should talk about it on the air tomorrow. Then we can open the conversation up for our listeners to talk about their first da-- _ oh _ ! And make sure not to leave out Gilbert's bit about slaying dragons."

Anne made a face. "I think we can go without -"

"We absolutely  _ cannot _ !" Diana teased.

"Says the woman who knows how awful it is to be shipped with someone for the ratings!"

"Because I don't have  _ chemistry _ with any of them! Gilbert -"

"Ruby likes him." Anne shook her head vehemently. "I do  _ not _ need to make any more enemies here."

Diana sighed. "Good point.  _ Ugh _ , it would've been such a good -"

"I'm working in the conference room!" Anne stood up in protest.

"Gilbert's working there," Diana smirked.

Anne sat back down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do let me know what you think :) I always love hearing from you guys <3 Your feedback and encouragement means the world to me! xx


	3. Galvanizing

“Happy Friday to us!” Diana cheered, bringing her third classic beer to her lips. 

Anne was only halfway through her first and took another small sip. Being the new girl, she had insisted on treating her co-workers, which was a huge mistake as Ruby had a penchant for shots and Josie ordered the most expensive, exotic mixes that were 80% fruit juice and none of the “good stuff” as Diana called it. Jane, blessedly, was their designated driver and had brought her own organic vegetable juice. 

“Gilbert!” Ruby hiccuped, pointing across the hole-in-the-wall pub that was the go-to for everyone in the media district of Avonlea. 

Diana, although already slightly tipsy, quickly covered for her friend, “Charlie, Billy, come on, join us! Anne’s buying!”

Anne winced inwardly. At least Rachel had ceased her threats on her job so she could pay off her credit card… eventually. 

“Did you  _ have _ to invite my oafish blood relative over too?” Jane groaned. "It's bad enough that Prissy is God knows  _ where _ in here  _ yucking _ it up with Phillips."

“He’d’ve invited himself over anyway with Josie giving him  _ the look _ ,” Diana leaned in conspiratorially and polished off her beer. 

“Ew, TMI, TMI!” Jane put her hands over her ears. 

“Hello, ladies,” Charlie leaned against the side of their booth in what was supposed to be a suave manner, but he’d pre-gamed with Billy, so he would have collapsed into Jane had she not elbowed him firmly in the ribs. 

“I’m getting a refill.” Diana stood carefully. “Anyone want anything?”

“Diana,” Anne whispered, “we have to be on the air tomorrow morning --”

Diana must not have heard her because she asked again, “Going once, going twice…?”

Ruby was too busy staring at Gilbert, Josie and Billy were trading innuendos, and Jane was this close to telling them she’d wait in the car -- maybe then Charlie would take the hint and leave her alone. 

Diana shrugged and got her refill. 

“So Anne, I hear you’re having your first In-House Critic segment tomorrow,” said Gilbert, studiously avoiding Ruby’s gaze and attempts to brush her hand against his… well,  _ everything _ . 

“Yes,” the redhead smiled brightly, “The topic is movie adaptations of classic novels.” 

“Let me guess,  _ Pride and Prejudice _ ?” he smirked.

“More like  _ To Kill a Mockingbird _ .” She didn’t know why she lied. There was nothing shameful about being a girl and appreciating romance, but his correct assumption irked her nevertheless. 

“Okay, but you  _ have _ to talk about  _ Frankenstein _ \--”

“That comes in when we bring up  _ Pride and Prejudice and Zombies _ ,” Anne decided to go back to telling the truth for the night and Gilbert rewarded her with a laugh. 

“I can’t wait to hear it,” he seemed perfectly earnest, smiling warmly despite being squeezed on the bench between Ruby, who was snuggling drunkenly into his shoulder, and Josie and Billy, who were making out like it was their last night on earth. 

In the morning, Diana trudged into the studio ten minutes to air with her largest pair of sunglasses covering almost half her face.

“Hi,” she said shortly and sat down beside Anne, who had been panic-reading her notes again. It was too late to add a bit about  _ To Kill a Mockingbird _ , but she’d already talked Winifred into coming back next week for it, so at least she could sign off on that promise and Gilbert wouldn’t think she was a total liar. 

“Oh my goodness,” Winifred, a fairly recent British import to Canada, still held on to her King’s English accent. “Are you quite alright?” 

“Peachy,” Diana smiled wanly. 

“Here are your notes, Di,” Anne handed a sheaf of paper to her. 

“And here’s your coffee,” Jerry put a black Island Radio mug on the table in front of her with some difficulty because of the way Anne had splayed their notes all over the place and refused to move them. 

The redhead still hadn’t forgiven him for not owning up to his negligence -- the donations the Cuthberts’ collected were still missing, although Mrs. Hammond was found in her home with her five children, two sets of twins and one new baby. Matthew was considering not pressing charges at all, given her pitiful situation. 

“Merci beaucoup, Jerry,” Diana sighed, sipping her coffee with three sugars, just the way she liked it. 

“Where's Phillips?" Anne whispered.

"He doesn't come in until ten on Saturdays," Diana rolled her eyes behind her shades. 

"Great," Anne didn't know if it made her feel better or worse to know that whatever she did was of so little consequence that their producer didn't care to supervise. "Um, Winifred, this is Diana Barry. Diana, this is Winifred Rose of the Avonlea Gazette."

Winifred was a tall blue-eyed woman with an aristocratic nose and long blonde hair cascading down her shoulders in waves.

"Hi, it's such a pleasure to meet you," she shook Diana’s hand firmly, "As I was telling Anne, I've never been on the radio before, so please go easy on me!" She laughed in a measured sort of way. 

It was like Diana was hearing her own on-air laugh in her ears and she didn't like it. There was nothing genuine about it -- hell, there was nothing genuine about her show until Anne came along. 

That settled it, Diana was about to get  _ real _ . She whipped off her shades as the countdown began and collected her notes. The red light went on and her entire demeanour shifted to one who was bright, bubbly, and most definitely  _ not _ hungover. 

"Good morning, Avonlea. I'm Diana Barry --"

"And I'm Anne Shirley," her co-host beamed at her, evidently unable to see through her professional facade.

"-- and you're listening to Island Radio. This morning, we're joined by Winifred Rose of the Avonlea Gazette to talk about the adaptation of classic novels. Since we're quickly approaching Halloween, we're turning to everyone's favourite monster-maker: Frankenstein. Text us your favourite adaptation at 1-PEI to get Winifred's hot take on it. That's 1-743."

"My personal favourite is the James McAvoy and Daniel Radcliffe adaptation," said Winifred, enunciating clearly the way Anne taught her. "The way they humanize him --"

"Igor?" Anne supplied helpfully.

"Well, yes, but more interestingly, Frankenstein," Winifred explained.

"See, that's the first problem right there," Diana spoke up, her voice taking on a placid sort of lilt. "Frankenstein is a  _ monster _ and he continues  _ right _ on being one until the end  _ despite _ the risk to himself, humanity, Igor --"

"But that's why he cut Igor loose," defended Winifred, "so he'd get to live his own life --"

Diana shook her head vehemently, "He cut him loose because he no longer shared the same priorities --"

"How about we discuss the more technical aspects of the film," Anne cut in, "and how it reflects the mood developed by Shelley in the --"

"I for one," Diana continued, raising a delicately trimmed eyebrow at her guest, " _ loathe _ the airbrushed modern adaptations."

Winifred's jaw dropped like she had been personally offended. "It's not  _ airbrushed _ . It's a different  _ take _ on --"

"Oh, look," Anne picked up the company phone on the desk like it was a life-line. "We've got a text --"

"Frankenstein and Igor did  _ not _ have a  _ fond _ mentor-apprentice relationship." Diana scrunched up her pretty face in disgust. "Igor was a  _ servant _ .  _ Trapped _ by his condition from birth. They just  _ waved _ away that injustice --"

Winifred frowned deeply. "They made it  _ right _ \--"

"They  _ literally _ made him a  _ fake _ hunchback and that is  _ not _ okay --"

"Perhaps this world has had  _ enough _ of blood and gore --"

"And of looking prejudice and discrimination in the eye,  _ clearly _ ! We would prefer to  _ sugarcoat _ it --"

"You’re listening to Island Radio Mornings with Diana Barry and Anne Shirley," Anne took them to commercial with a massive sigh. 

Mr. Phillips barged in as soon as the red light switched off. "What the  _ hell _ was that?" 

"A spirited discussion," Diana spun around in her chair to face him, but quickly realized her mistake as her headache resumed with a vengeance and she began kneading her temples vigorously. 

"Are you…  _ hungover _ ?" Mr. Phillips' voice grew dangerously quiet. 

Anne stood immediately, "Winifred, you must try the Cuthberts' plum puffs --"

"I think I'd better not," Winifred stood as well. "I can see I'm not a good fit for this program --"

"No, Winifred," Anne pleaded, pointing to Island Radio's social media stats, which were blowing up on her laptop. "Look, you're trending! Isn't that great? Your column will get so much more traffic --"

Winifred leaned down to read them properly and her pleasant face contorted into a scowl, "Diana Barry would make a better critic than that blonde bimbo. #CancelWinifredRose," she scoffed. "Yeah, I think I've done enough damage to my career for one morning."

Anne's face crumpled. "Let me show you out --"

"I can find my own way, thanks," she lifted her chin and strutted away with as much of her dignity as she could muster. 

"Shirley!" Phillips barked. "I heard you at the pub buying everyone drinks last night --"

"It wasn't Anne's fault!" Diana put her sunglasses back on and crossed her arms. 

"This was  _ her _ segment --"

Phillips turned back to Anne, "I'm taking you off Diana's show --"

" _ What _ ?" The women moved closer together as if fearing being separated by force. 

"-- and you will join Gilbert for the news hour in twenty." The producer finished smugly. 

"But I haven't even had time to prep!" Anne protested.

"Then I suggest you make the most of the next," Phillips' eyes flicked derisively to the countdown clock as though even it was beneath him, "nineteen minutes and fifty-three seconds."

Anne barrelled out of the studio and into the conference room. 

"Hello," said Gilbert, mildly surprised to see her as she seemed to be avoiding him all week. "I tried to catch Winnie on her way out, but she seemed upset --"

"I don't want to talk about it.” Anne waved it off impatiently. “I'm joining you for news hour --"

"But you haven't had time to prep --"

"That's what  _ I _ said!" Anne ran a hand through her long red locks. 

"Okay, okay," Gilbert began pacing, gears turning behind his hazel eyes, "What do you know about the teacher strikes?"

"I've been following them a bit… sorta…" Anne shrugged. "My mom was a teacher."

"Oh?" his eyebrows peaked with interest. "Was?"

Anne swallowed thickly. "She passed away soon after I was born."

Gilbert's face fell immediately, "Oh, I'm sorry --"

"I don't remember her," Anne said stiffly. "You can't miss someone you can't remember. "

Gilbert didn't know whether she wanted him to agree or disagree, so he ended up doing this awkward combination of a shake and a nod. "Uh… Here are my notes. All you have to do is read."

"Thanks," Anne was glad she had always been a fast reader. “So... the mayor’s statement asks teachers to come back… Is he going to raise their wages?” 

“He says they’re under contract for the school year,” Gilbert showed her his notes. “There’s nothing he can do.” 

Anne started pacing as well. “Are you giving people the number for his office so they can call and demand change for next year?” 

“Uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, “we’re kinda subsidized by his office --”

“Gil, you’re a  _ reporter _ \--”

“Not without funding I’m not,” he shrugged helplessly. 

“Wow,” Anne stood there dumbfounded. Gilbert was decidedly  _ not _ the hero she thought he was. “Okay, then.  _ I’ll _ give out the number,” she jotted it down in her notes.

“Look, if Phillips is already putting you in the doghouse with me --”

“If you won’t do the news right, feel free to join the morning show in my place. You seem to be the only guy Diana tolerates.” 

“How… flattering?” he frowned, “But I happen to  _ like _ doing the news and see value in my time slot where Phillips doesn’t --”

“Then  _ give _ it value,” Anne urged him, “Give out that number!” 

“People won’t call! They don’t want a tax hike, which is what higher wages would require --”

“Then delay the story until you can take a good look at the provincial budget. It’s publicly --”

Gilbert made a frustrated noise from the back of his throat, “I  _ have _ , and in case you haven’t noticed, P.E.I. doesn’t exactly have a  _ thriving _ economy right now --”

“What about federal money?” Anne was not going to be deterred easily. “These strikes are happening nation-wide. That puts the ball in their court.”

“I haven’t been able to get a hold of them for comment,” he admitted.

“Then mention that. Give out our MP’s number too --”

“You realize we’re federally subsidized too? Just like CBC?” 

“Then give them a head’s up,” Anne advanced so they were barely half a foot apart, “but _don’t_ _heel_ like a good little lap dog before they tell you to!” 

“Hey, that’s not fair! I --” Gilbert grimaced, “Look, I get that you’re new to this --”

“I’ll have you know I  _ interned _ at CBC --”

“And how did not playing by their unspoken rules go for you?”

Anne fidgeted uncomfortably. “They put me in copy-editing, so apart from defending the Oxford comma, there wasn’t much boundary-testing to engage in.” 

Gilbert sighed, “Look, just play along with me when we go on the air, alright? Then when you’re back on your time on Monday, you can galvanize the people all you want.” 

Just then, there was a knock on the glass door. 

“Ten minutes to air,” Diana poked her head in quietly. “Anne, I’m sorry I --”

“It’s behind us,” Anne assured her. “I’ll see you on Monday and we’ll have a  _ great _ show together, okay?” 

Diana looked even more crestfallen. “Phillips wants you on the news and off the morning show until further notice.” 

“ _ What _ ?” Anne and Gilbert cried in unison. 

“I’m sorry.” Diana massaged her temples vigorously, “I’ll… I’ll try to think of something, but I…I’m sorry, I can’t  _ think _ ! I…”

“ _ We _ will think of something, Diana,” Anne squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. “Now, go home, get some rest and take some aspirin. I’ll call you.”

Diana nodded dejectedly and slunk out of the building. 

Anne and Gilbert took their seats in the studio without a word to each other. Gilbert kept trying to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t look at him.  _ Were they on the same page on the teacher’s strikes? _

The countdown began and Anne jotted down the MP’s number in her notes. 

_ God, dammit, he was so screwed.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm excited to introduce a bunch of new characters in the next chapter, but fair warning, it may be a while longer than usual before I'm able to find time to write it...
> 
> The important thing is, I LOVE this fic and thanks to your wonderful comments, kudos, and subscriptions, I know you love it too, so I want to give it -- give YOU -- my very best, which means I won't be haphazardly hacking it together while my life starts going a bit crazy, but this fic WILL 100% be finished. I have it all planned out already, so the only way that does not happen is literally over my dead body. 
> 
> Please take care of yourselves, kindred spirits! I'll be back as soon as I can!  
> \- Jeannie xx


	4. Like Them Apples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!!! Thank you for your patience xx

“As  _ interesting _ as you might find fields upon  _ fields _ of wheat --”

“ _Orchards_. It’s apple orchards. They let people pick them and it’s this -- this _community_ _experience_ \--” 

“Okay, now you’re just  _ throwing _ words around when the  _ indisputable _ fact is --”

“You  _ love  _ words!” 

“-- that no one can  _ resist _ cute farm animals!”

“And if we were a  _ visual _ medium, we’d be all over that!” 

“Uh…” A tall dark-skinned man with a scratchy black beard leaned against the front desk, “I was going to ask where I might find Gilbert Blythe, but I think I already know.”

“Welcome to Island Radio.” The woman behind the desk smiled wryly. She had long, dark, curly hair pulled back into a messy bun, pretty dimpled cheeks, and big brown doe eyes. 

“I’m Bash,” he smiled and shook her hand, holding it maybe just a bit longer than was necessary.

“Mary,” she said. “Listen, he’s expecting a guest to come in and he’s got to prep him for the air in less than --”

“Oh, don’t worry, that’s me. I’m the guy with the ‘community experience’ orchard.” 

“Ah,” Mary handed him the visitor’s pass, “So Bash is short for Sebastian, eh?”

“That’s right, Miss Mary…?”

“Miss?” she laughed, “Hanford. Mary Hanford.” 

Bash tipped an imaginary hat to her and started towards the offices in the back. 

“Good luck with those two,” she chuckled. 

Bash waltzed into the conference room and all but fell into one of the chairs between a fiery redhead with ruddy cheeks and his very pale, very tousle-haired roommate. 

“I think I’m in love,” he sighed. 

“Oh, how utterly  _ grand _ !” The redheaded lady’s demeanour changed completely from frazzled professional to starry-eyed schoolgirl. “Love is  _ such _ a delightful sensation. I fall in love almost  _ everyday _ . Whom with, in your case?”

“The lovely Miss Mary Hanford,” Bash let her name roll over his tongue like sweet candy. 

“Bash,” Gilbert spoke stiffly, “This is Anne, Anne, this is Sebastian Lacroix.”

“You go by ‘Bash’?” Anne shook his hand.

“It’s my street name,” he shrugged, “before your knight in shining armour of a co-host got me into the apple business.”

“What did you do before farming?” Anne took up her notepad. 

“I was a steward on a cruise ship. Travelled all over the world. Before that, I lived in inner city Montreal, but I was born in Haiti.” 

“Wow, okay, can you tell me more about…” Anne’s gray eyes were wide with curiosity and her hands were gesticulating emphatically, “ _ all _ of that and how it’s shaped your outlook as a farmer today.”

“Absolutely. I have stables too, by the way. Recently branched out to giving kids lessons --”

“You can  _ barely _ ride yourself,” Gilbert rolled his eyes. 

“I hired a part-time trainer. He can get you pictures of our fillies for your social media.” Bash turned to Gilbert. “Thank you for the recommendation, by the way.”

“I wasn’t recommending him! I was just  _ saying _ \--”

“What’s his name?” asked Anne, cutting off Gilbert’s outburst.

“Jerry Baynard.”

Anne rounded on Gilbert. “You  _ poached  _ him from the Cuthberts?”

“You don’t even like him --”

“But the Cuthberts  _ do _ and Marilla was telling how short staffed they are now --”

“And it’s all my fault, right?”

“ _ Right _ !” Anne seethed and started scribbling furiously. “We can do another segment on Jerry and the horses tomorrow, and we’ll close off your segment, Bash, by saying that’s what we’ll do.” 

“Sounds great,” Bash grinned. 

“You can see Mary later about booking Jerry for tomorrow,” she added with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes.

“Thank you,” Bash swivelled around to face Gilbert, who still looked very unamused. “She’s an awesome co-host, no? So on top of things.”

“Lucky me,” the boy sighed. 

“Studio’s ready for you guys,” Diana popped in, smiling sadly at Anne, whom she still wasn’t allowed to share air-time with. 

“Thanks, Di,” Anne squeezed her hand as she passed her by.

After their segment they handed things off to Billy and joined the others in the conference room. Prissy and Jane were absent again, this time under more dubious circumstances. 

“I heard that Mr. Phillips asked her to be his girlfriend,” whispered Ruby, “ _ officially _ .”

“But I heard from Billy who heard from Jane that Prissy turned him down,” added Josie. “Now Phillips is so embarrassed, he’s quitting!”

“I heard Rachel say something about him leaving,” mused Diana, “but I didn’t think it would be so soon, much less just because he was  _ turned down _ .” 

“It’s much more than that,” Anne hummed thoughtfully, “I think the only thing more shameful than being the girl who dates the boss is being the boss who tried to get with the girl.”

There were unanimous murmurs of ascent at that. 

“Hello, ladies.” Charlie pulled up a chair. “What are we talking about?”

“Jane and Prissy’s upcoming segment on workplace dynamics and intersectional feminism,” Diana said quickly. “How did the Islanders game go last night?”

“Terribly.”

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Phillips came in last of all, after Rachel. “I have important news and I think it’s best not to sugar-coat it: I am leaving Island Radio. I’ve gotten an offer from Atlantic and I’ll be leaving in two weeks. You’ve all done excellent work in your respective shows and I want you to know I am proud of each and every one of you.”

“You’d think he’d had something to do with our success the way he’s talking,” Anne muttered to Diana, who nodded subtly in response.

“As much as I regret to leave, I know you will continue to make the best of this little station and if you ever need anything, anything at all --”

“From you?” Josie scoffed, “No, thank you.”

“-- please don’t hesitate to let me know,” he passed around his new business cards. “Now, let’s have our final pitch meeting together, shall we?”

In two weeks, they sat around the same table waiting on their new producer who was supposed to have gotten out of her meeting with Rachel fifteen minutes ago. Rachel was as old as the station itself and liked to meet with all the producers since the first before their official introductory meeting. Despite their stations’ backers constantly offering her the position for herself, she always refused, saying she’d miss being on the air too much. 

“How long do you think she’ll last?” Josie smirked.

“I heard she’s from CBC,” Ruby piped up. “What do you think, Anne? You interned there, didn’t you?”

“Anne was a little busy defending the Oxford comma in her CBC days,” Gilbert sat down across from his co-host. “I doubt she had much time to get to know one of the most prolific producers in Canadian radio.”

Anne slouched in her seat sullenly. She had hoped to meet Muriel Stacey the entire time she’d worked at CBC, but she was always out chasing a lead or a story or an interview and Anne had always been stuck with documents upon documents of copy across three different departments. If she wasn’t such a quick reader, she was sure she wouldn’t have made it through that summer.

“I give her two weeks. Tops.” Billy Andrews waltzed in and put his arms around Josie. 

“What are you doing here, Billy?” Jane rolled her eyes. “You have a show going, don’t you?”

“It’s on commercial. Besides, I wanted to see the fresh meat.”

“I assume you mean me?” A tall, sturdily built woman with pretty blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. She had a wide and ready smile that could quickly turn cutting, and cheeks like smooth apples. 

Billy stood up straight as Josie practically threw his arms off her. 

“Shall we hear your pitch first then, Billy?” Muriel Stacey sat down at the head of the table. 

“Oh, I don’t pitch.” He leaned up against the wall, crossing his arms. “I like to keep things spontaneous. It’s why people love my show.” 

“Well, as your producer and someone who has listened to your show over my lunch break, I think that while it’s important to address trending topics,  _ how _ you do it holds equal if not greater value.”

He put his hands up and sat down. “You’re the boss, lady.”

Jane kicked him under the table. 

“What?” he shrugged jerkily. “I said she’s the boss lady.” 

“No, there was a comma in there,” his sister wrinkled her nose derisively.

“I heard it too,” said Gilbert, jutting his chin out at Billy.

“I also heard it,” said Ruby, although whether she actually heard it or just wanted to support Gilbert remained to be seen.

“Yes, thank you, everyone,” Stacey called the meeting back to order. “Your pitch, Billy?” 

“They took  _ My Fair Lady _ out of our Citadel Theatre and are replacing it with -- of all things --  _ The Heathers _ . The actresses are sub-par at best and definitely don’t look the part --”

“Care to clarify?” Anne began to click her pen viciously, which Gilbert knew was a sign she was about to rip Billy to shreds.

“Are you going to tell me it’s not more difficult to sing and dance live when you’re a plus-sized performer?”

“Have you ever seen this troupe perform?” asked Anne. She was alternating her clicks with twirls now. 

“I read a review in the Herald --”

“By whom?”

“My father.”

“So a second-hand source by a party whose opinion you are biased towards agreeing with,” Anne slapped her pen down. “So your pitch is that they took out a show all about what men think a woman should be and replaced it with a show that has a majority female cast and performed by one of the most inclusive theatre troupes in P.E.I.”

“Where have I seen you before?” Stacey turned to the redhead. 

“Oh, I’m Anne Shirley,” she shook the producer’s hand eagerly. “I interned at CBC while you were working there. I  _ adored _ your piece on the pro-choice movement and men’s contraceptives --”

“Do you co-host with Billy?”

“Uh, no,” Anne picked up her pen carefully, tapping it against her notepad, “but when Diana and I were co-hosts, we’d cover topics like this all the --”

“Thank you for sharing your opinion, which I happen to agree with; however, I want this to be a safe space where everyone can make their ideas heard. We will discuss them and fine-tune them like adults. Billy, I think your base topic is sound, so please rethink your angle and we can talk about running it.”

“Hang on.” Billy sat up straighter. “Mr. Phillips never censored me --”

“Mr. Phillips isn’t here.” Stacey folded her hands in front of her. “Rachel has related to me the values that Island Radio is built on and I can’t say that the perspective you proposed aligns with them. Now, let’s hear from the news hour. Gilbert Blythe?” 

“And Anne Shirley,” Gilbert shot Anne a cautious look. 

She sucked in her cheeks a bit as she turned her nose up at him ever so slightly before facing Stacey. “We’re inviting Mel Manson of  _ Manson Mansions _ \--”

“-- the mansion renovation reality show,” Gilbert interjected.

“-- to talk about homelessness in what we typically see as thriving metropolises,” Anne continued. 

“-- Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver,” Gilbert counted off. 

“And you think he’s qualified?” Stacey asked Anne. 

“She, and yes, in 2009, after her small-time renovation business went bankrupt, she was homeless for about a year.”

“I like the juxtaposition,” said Stacey. “The talking points will be in my email?”

“By the end of the day,” Gilbert assured her. 

When the meeting ended and they were lining up in front of the Cuthberts’ catering table, Anne gave Gilbert the stink-eye, saying, “I think Muriel Stacey knows what a thriving Canadian metropolis means.”

“I just wanted to be specific about the areas we intend to cover,” Gilbert furrowed his brows. 

“Are you sure you weren’t just trying to look like you had something to say?” she challenged.

“Hey, I’m the one who made sure she knew you were even co-hosting!”

“I could’ve told her myself!”

“But you didn’t. You were too busy wallowing because she told you off for talking down Billy --”

“I was  _ not _ wallowing! She  _ agreed _ with me --”

“Anne, can I speak to you a moment?” Stacey beckoned her back into the conference room.

Anne took a deep breath and approached her. “I’m sorry for the way I came at Billy. I should have been more tactful and trusted that you, as our producer, would have caught it.”

“Thank you, Anne,” she smiled kindly, “but I can’t know everything and I’ll be happy to depend on reporters like you to help us entertain and educate responsibly.”

Anne beamed.

"But I wanted to talk to you about a transfer request you had pending with Mr. Phillips. Also why does everyone call him Mr. Phillips?"

"His request."

"Oh," Stacey frowned. "Well, you must call me Muriel. Now, about this request… you seemed very passionate about doing the news… why do you want to go back to the morning show?"

"Oh, I am passionate!" Anne enthused. "But… Gil--my co-host and I disagree on delivery more often than not. When I did the morning show with Diana, we -- we  _ clicked _ ! We were bosom friends and we found ways to make the news interesting! Gilbert thinks statistics and logic and science will convince people and it does, but  _ only _ to an extent and certainly  _ not _ in under an hour."

Stacey nodded thoughtfully. "The way I see it, you are needed more with Gilbert. Diana, as you said, thinks the same way you do. There's no  _ debate _ , no -- no  _ discussion _ . If that's the issue you're facing, I'm afraid I'm going to have to deny your request."

Anne clicked her pen with renewed vigor. "I understand completely."

She was just reclaiming her place in line when Rachel came bursting out of her office. “ _ Muriel Stacey _ ! You -- you -- you thought you could  _ bury _ it? Making your socials  _ private _ ?  _ Paying _ off your journalist friends to take down their articles? There are  _ screenshots _ all over the internet! I'm just waiting for the board of directors to call back, but you may well want to start clearing out your desk!"

"Well, that didn't last very long at all," Josie muttered under her breath. 

"What are you talking about, Rachel?" Marilla approached her friend with a plate of plum puffs. 

"See for yourself!" Rachel shoved her cellphone in Marilla's face with one hand and plum puffs into her own mouth with the other. 

Anne and Diana looked over Marilla's right shoulder while Ruby and Josie looked over her left. Jane and Prissy attempted to look aloof, but Googled 'Muriel Stacey cbc controversy' on their own devices. 

And there was Muriel Stacey at a pro-choice protest last summer, topless, proudly holding up a sign that that read,  _ I’M HAVING YOUR BABY! IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! _

“Oh…” said Marilla, “my word.” She seemed to be at a loss for any other words. 

Anne on the other hand was overflowing with words, typing furiously on her phone. 

Gilbert wasn’t looking over her shoulder, he swore to himself, he just happened to be taller than her. “That’s… some flavourful language.”

“I know. I installed a censorship app that edits out cussing, so I have to go Shakespearean to get around it.”

“I meant you might want to come across as more professio--”

“I  _ know _ .” She read through her rough draft and began removing all references to the wonderful metaphor she had developed to describe the patriarchy, which she had likened to a flea-infested dog. 

“O-kay.” Gilbert stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Transigent doesn’t have a ‘c’ --”

“I  _ know _ .” 

“But you --”

“ _ You _ try typing fifty words a minute with just your thumbs.” 

In record time, Anne had a Change.org petition online -- with a picture of Island Radio’s logo edited over Muriel’s topless picture; thank you, Canva -- and had sent the link to her entire contact list, plus her socials. They were absolutely  _ not _ letting a good producer like her languish on the sidelines because she was fighting the good fight for equality. 

“Well, I should have known!” Rachel was lamenting to Marilla. “With the gap in her resume,  _ well _ ! Sabbatical,  _ well _ !” 

Anne’s phone was blowing up with notifications -- people signing the petition, people voicing their opinions against it, but the important thing was people were talking up a storm about it. One notification was from a message the office group chat, which almost everyone had liked or otherwise reacted positively to. 

Gilbert had said,  _ DIRECT PEOPLE TO ANNE’S PETITION ON YOUR SHOWS. MURIEL IS AN AMAZING REPORTER AND WE CANNOT LOSE HER NOW ONLY TO GET STUCK WITH ANOTHER IGNORAMOUS LIKE PHILLIPS!!! _

Anne typed,  _ Yes, please, thank you guys. Also, @gilblythe, it’s *ignoramus*. _ She cast him a surreptitious sideways glance as she hit send. 

He checked his phone, conscious of her eyes on him, and replied,  _ Good catch, @annewithane. _

Anne had been expecting something with more bite to it, but before she could overthink it, she sent a link to the petition to the board of directors’ emails and cc’ed her coworkers, saying simply,  _ We stand by our producer.  _

The group chat chimed with another notification:  _ @MurielStacey: Thank you so much @annewithane @gilblythe @everyone. Already I know you are a remarkable group of radio personalities whom I want to work with for a long time.  _

The phone in Rachel’s office rang. 

“That’ll be the board,” she said icily.

“Then you’d better take it.” Muriel straightened up. 

Rachel was in her office a long time before re-emerging, face red and written over with defeat. “Muriel,” she pointed at the producer, “you will  _ not _ sully the good name of Island Radio with that kind of foolishness, do you understand me?”

“What kind of foolishness would you prefer?” Muriel challenged, knowing that Rachel could not fire her without the board’s consent. “The kind that laughs off insensitive PMS jokes? Or the kind that  _ insists _ on giving the Conservatives more air time because some of their party are the station’s major financiers? Perhaps something in between like the underlying reason we have not one  _ single _ radio host of colour among us?” 

“You think you’re pushing the envelope.” Rachel got up in the taller woman’s face. “But you’re just pushing yourself out the door. Keep it up and they’ll come around to what I see coming now --  _ clear _ as day!”

“Alright, until then, I believe I have talking points to approve and a social media presence to reassert.” Muriel twirled on her heel and strode confidently into the producer’s office -- her office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my writing, you can follow me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jccolewrites/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jccolewrites) @jccolewrites for something exciting on the way!!


	5. The Misadventures of Miss Anne Shirley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Gilbert "Heart-Eyes" Blythe's POV...

Gilbert Blythe had seen many things in his time as a news reporter, but he had never seen a woman quite like Anne. From their very first encounter, she had hit him with her wit, her beauty, and her iPad. Often, she’d come to work in a flowing, flower-printed dress underneath her plain brown blazer and he thought she must have descended from nymphs or fairies because no human could possibly look like that. 

Now, he’d seen her on the beach at the Island Music Festival in an emerald green bathing suit and hair to match. Yes, you read that correctly. Anne Shirley had dyed her hair green. 

He heard from Moody, who heard it from Charlie, who heard it from Ruby that Gertie Pye, Josie’s younger but no less spiteful sister who was rooming with Anne, had switched out Anne’s shampoo for hair dye the other day. He wasn’t sure how reliable that information was, but in any case, Anne was her usual, gorgeous, unbothered self. 

“Minnie!” Diana yelled at the top of her lungs. “Minnie May!” 

“I saw her with Anne down by the boardwalk,” supplied Gilbert helpfully.

Luckily, Diana was too preoccupied with finding her baby sister to be suspicious of how he knew that when he was supposed to be “working,” surveying festival attendees. 

“Diana!” An elderly woman whom Gilbert vaguely recognized ran up to her, heaving. “Your — Your crazy, green-haired friend’s gone after Minnie, she — they’re — gonna get swept into the cliffs!” 

Gilbert jumped up and made a beeline for the harbor. Those cliffs were notorious for their rocky outcroppings. Many ships and lives had been lost there in the early days of P.E.I.

“Charlie!” he yelled. “Charlie, get that boat going!” 

From the deck of the sleek racing boat, Charlie Sloane looked up from his laptop screen. “I’m not supposed to —”

“We need to save Anne!” He untied it from the harbor. “And Minnie May,” he added belatedly, hopping aboard the streamlined boat owned by the Barrys. It was regularly the topic of conversation (and therefore reporting) when on display at the festival. 

Still apparently sweet on Anne, Charlie started the boat without any further questions. 

They passed the cliffs once, twice, but there was no sign of Anne or Minnie May. 

“Are you sure they’re out here?” Charlie asked over the roar of the motor. 

Gilbert grimaced, lowering the binoculars he’d found in one of the compartments. “Check the cove!”

“Beyond the cliffs? There’s no way they could’ve gotten there from the beach —”

“They could’ve with the current helping them on,” Gilbert insisted.

Charlie slowed the boat as they approached the cove. Forget nymphs and fairies, Anne Shirley must be descended from mermaids, because how else could she have swum that distance, bearing Minnie May, even with the current helping her? Her bright green hair looked like seaweed in the sun and even with the high tide coming in around her, she didn’t look like she needed saving.

“Hey, Anne,” said Charlie, like this was a perfectly normal situation. “What’s up?”

“Fishing for sea trout,” she quipped. 

“I’m pruning!” Five-year-old Minnie May whined, clearly oblivious to the fact that they could’ve died. “Can we go now?” 

“Sure, Gil—Charlie could you…?” Anne heaved the child up over the side of the boat as Charlie received her. 

This left Gilbert open to help Anne up over the side and he wondered if her little slip of the tongue was, in fact, intentional. Her grip was firm, though her hands were cold. He shrugged off his cardigan and put it around her shoulders. 

“Thank you,” she replied curtly, but not rudely. 

“You’re welcome.” He dared hope that outside of work, at least, they could have a friendly relationship. 

“Minnie! Anne!” Diana rushed to them as Charlie brought the boat back into the harbor. 

“You must be exhausted!” exclaimed the elderly woman who Gilbert was now sure he knew from  _ somewhere _ important. 

“Cold more than anything, Miss Barry,” chuckled Anne, toweling off her green hair. 

Josephine Barry.  _ The _ Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter Josephine Barry. Of course! And yet… 

Gilbert turned to Diana. “You said you weren’t rela—”

“I know what I said.” Diana jutted her chin forward the way Anne often did. “And if there’s one thing I hate more than people’s expectations of me, it’s people’s expectations of me because of who I’m related to.” 

Gilbert inclined his head politely, almost certain Miss Barry had heard every word. “Fair.” 

“As I was saying before you had to run off and be a hero...” Miss Barry looped her arm through Anne’s. “I must introduce you to a friend of mine. Cole is a brilliant set designer —”

“I’d love to meet him,” Anne beckoned Diana over. “But I don’t report on entertainment anymore. Diana should join us.” 

Gilbert watched them go, never doubting for a second that Anne would repair the relationship between aunt and niece before the festival was over. 

Bash, who was selling his organic produce at the festival, came up behind him, clearing his throat.

As soon as Gilbert saw the smirk on his friend’s face, he shook his head at him. “Can I help you?” 

“Just thought you could use a wingman.”

“You, standing there and wiggling your eyebrows at me, is not being a wingman.” 

“But me standing here, wiggling my eyebrows, and telling you to just ask her out already  _ is _ me being a wingman.”

“We work together. Rachel has a strict no-dating policy —”

“Really?” Bash almost laughed. “The same woman who actively encourages her hosts to flirt on the air?”

Realizing he was not going to get anything past him, Gilbert started walking away to find more attendees to survey. 

Bash just followed him. “Do you want to know what yours and Miss Shirley’s ship name is?”

“You say that like I have a choice in the matter.”

“You’re right. You don’t. It’s Shirbert.” 

“Okay.”

“Did your heart skip a little beat just now?”

“Shut up, man.” Gilbert shook his head and stopped a gaggle of college girls on a break from Queens’ University with a charming smile. “Do you lovely ladies have time for a quick survey?”

“Perfect dry run, Blythe,” Bash whispered to him, slinging his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Now just change the question to, ‘What are you doing next weekend?’”

Gilbert shoved him off playfully. “I’m working. And you should be too. Get out of here.”

Bash laughed and ambled off, raising his arms in mock surrender. 

Still, Gilbert couldn’t help but consider his advice.  _ Hey, Anne, what are you doing next weekend? Do you want to go to Charlottetown with me? For the economics convention? It’s three days, two nights in a fancy hotel and it’s all paid for. Oh, would you look at that, there’s only one bed —  _ He had to stop proof-reading (and enjoying) Charlie’s Reylo fanfiction. 

The next weekend, Gilbert boarded the train to Charlottetown for the economic convention alone. 

Someone tapped his shoulder from behind. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

He turned and his face broke into a grin. “Winnie! Go ahead, have a seat.” The lanyard already around her neck caught his eye. “Convention?”

Winnie hummed, taking the seat across from him. “You too?”

He nodded, sitting down again. 

Winnie looked up and down the car. “And your co-host?” 

Gilbert’s mind was a clip reel of Anne’s spirited monologues about the exclusivity of these conventions and how they ought to be boycotted. (To Bash’s disappointment, Gilbert hadn’t turned up the charm when he asked her if she was coming with him. He was determined to be a professional.) He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, she’s...” 

Just over Winnie’s shoulder was a flash of bright red hair. 

“Anne?” He half-stood, a confused look on his face.

Anne, Marilla Cuthbert, and Matthew Cuthbert turned to look at him. They waved and turned back around. 

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, curious, but sat back down as the train lurched forward. 

“I guess she has other business in Charlottetown,” he answered Winnie’s original question.

Winnie fidgeted with a lock of her wavy blonde hair. “By the way, Gilbert… I’m sorry the In-House Critic segment didn’t quite work out the way we wanted it to.” 

“Oh, don’t even worry about it,” he said, turning his phone over in his hand. He was dying to text Anne and ask her what she meant by telling him she wouldn’t be going to Charlottetown with him, and yet there she was. It was the reporter in him that needed to know. 

Winnie seemed to sense where his mind was and said, “You know, I wrote a review on her podcast when I was in university.”

“Really?” Gilbert leaned back into the conversation. “Kindred Spirits?”

Winnie nodded. “It was such a supernatural premise, but it was told so intimately!”

“I was very interested in her stylistic choices for the longest time,” Gilbert agreed. “And then I found it wasn’t styled so much as…”

“She actually lived in a group home.” Winnie pouted pityingly. “Poor thing.”

They talked about how Anne’s old podcast got them through some of their loneliest moments in university. Because it was her father’s alma mater, Winnie had studied at the University of Paris, Sorbonne. He thought she was taking economics with a minor in math, but she’d actually chosen journalism. But he could never stay mad at her, his only child. Sorbonne would have been Gilbert’s first choice had his father not been so ill, eventually passing away. He ended up going to the University of Toronto, but he had no regrets. He’d met his friends Charlie and Moody there. 

Before they knew it, they’d arrived in Charlottetown. Gilbert didn’t get a chance to speak to Anne or the Cuthberts before the convention, but he had a great time with Winnie, who staunchly supported the conventions in sharp contrast to Anne. 

“They aren’t consolidating power so much as redistributing it and making themselves accountable for it,” she agreed with him when he told her about his disagreement with his co-host. 

The convention was three days long and on the eve of the last day, Gilbert was surprised to see Anne in the lobby of his hotel. She appeared to be waiting for someone. 

Gilbert said he’d wait for Winnie too and they’d catch the train back to Avonlea together. So he had some time to kill with Anne. “Hey.”

She jumped up and whirled around to face him. “Hey. Sorry. Didn’t notice you there. I was just imagining…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just imagining… what?”

“How this conversation would go.” Anne took a deep breath. He’d never seen her nervous before. “I have a piece on the Cuthberts I’d like us to air. A sort of side-by-side to your coverage on the convention. I know this will eat into your time, but I was hoping you’d at least read it and tell me what you think before I pitch to Stacey tomorrow.” 

Gilbert’s phone chimed, but he didn’t see a phone in Anne’s hand. “Did you…  _ schedule _ that email to send right now?” 

“Yes?” Anne looked at him, wondering whether he was going to just stand there or open the email, or, who knows,  _ say something _ that acknowledged  _ anything _ she just said.

“But how did you know…?” He juggled his bags awkwardly so he’d have one hand free to fish for his phone in his pocket. 

“The last train to Avonlea leaves in fifteen minutes. It’s fifteen minutes from here to the station. You’re on a news reporter’s clock. You like doing everything  _ just _ on time.”

Gilbert blinked. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Anne laughed, genuinely at first, but then it stumbled into nerves as he began to speed-read her email. 

“I…” He was scrolling up and down now, meaning his speed-reading was fast enough to rival hers. “I didn’t know the Cuthberts’ business was struggling… The bank really said all that?”

Anne nodded. “I found out pretty last minute too. They’re really private people. At first, I came thinking I could help them convince the bank, but… I guess reporting on the many inequities small businesses are facing right now will have to be a humble consolation.” 

By this time, Gilbert was used to Anne’s way of stringing big words together. And he was a man on a mission to uncover his own truth. “So… you  _ would _ have come to the convention with me if —”

“Oh, no, I stand by what I said about that. Investigating the Cuthberts’ case and finding out it’s not unique only cements my resolve against top-heavy events like these.” 

Gilbert nodded. “You know, I still think there’s merit in having these conventions…” He bit back a smile at the way Anne reflexively crossed her arms. “But it doesn’t matter what I think. Yours is a really important angle too. If we show both, we’re doing our duty as journalists, keeping the populace informed.”

A slow smile bloomed over Anne’s whole face, her freckles shifting like pretty grains of sand to accommodate. “I’m glad you see it that way.” 

Just then, Winnie swept out of the elevator in her chic business formal attire, making every head in the lobby turn towards her. 

She came up beside Gilbert. “Ready to go?” 

Gilbert turned back to Anne. “Do you want to share a cab?” 

Anne looked between them — Gilbert and Winnie. They looked…  _ right _ together. Like a pair of lovers out of a movie. She’d seen them on the train together. Perhaps they’d even spent these last two nights together. Hotel rendezvouses were  _ so _ romantic — she had to stop proof-reading Ruby’s Reylo fanfiction. 

“That’s okay,” she told them. “You two go ahead.”

Winnie practically beamed. 

Anne watched them go, wondering when she’d get her turn. She’d always wanted to share a whirlwind romance with a beautiful soul. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruby and Charlie are definitely mutuals. They just don't know it ;)
> 
> Let me know what you think, lovelies! xx


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